


just like the ocean under the moon

by marchosias



Series: make it real [1]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, Summer Heat, a lot of Bill fantasizing about Holden's ass, and a lot of sweaty Holden, eventual ass worship, light fluff?, smut will come later I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 21:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchosias/pseuds/marchosias
Summary: Atlanta, in the middle of summer, is hot to the point of inactivity. The heat brings thoughts to Bill that he's been ignoring for a while. But like the rising tide, nothing ever stays down for long.





	just like the ocean under the moon

**Author's Note:**

> This series has fucked me all the way up, y'all. I've just recently started writing fic again and holy shit guys what the hell even are these two?? There will be more to come, this is the first in what will probably be a mini-series. I'll probably tend on the lighter side but who knows. buckle up!
> 
> I binged s2 when it first came out so some details may get fuzzy and s1 is even further back. I really need to do a rewatch but if i get my wires crossed please forgive!
> 
> yes this is heavily influenced by the Timeless Hit Smooth by Santana. I started listening to it for the meme of it all and got hit right across the face with this idea. at this point, naming fics after songs is just tradition. will i ever be original? ...............no

Fuck, Georgia is hot.

It is like a wet blanket as soon as Bill exits the hotel. The breeze provides no relief either, blowing as hot as a hairdryer as he crosses the street to climb into his rental. Virginia has some hot months in the summer, but nothing as lethargy-inducing as this. At least back home he can function and not feel overwhelmed while standing grill-side. Here, in the middle of the city and nowhere near a grill, it feels at least ten times hotter.

He leaves the windows down and lights up as he drives to their makeshift command center. Bill gazes at the sidewalks as he drives slowly in the heart of the city. Their killer could be someone on this very street. They have had very little luck so far, bringing in a waste-of-time racist for nothing. The look of smug satisfaction on his face as they begrudgingly let him go turned Bill’s stomach. Awakened the vigilante urge he kept tamped thoroughly down.

“Motherfucker…” He mumbled to himself, flicking his cigarette butt out the window. Bill looks up to see he’s completely daydreamed through the entire drive; he is now only a block away from the ugly yellow building. He very well could have mowed down a couple children himself in his oblivious stupor. The newspapers would have a fucking riot with that one. _‘Distracted Driver FBI Agent Kills Three’_. The thought both mortifies him and makes him laugh a little darkly. He probably would have just kept driving until he hit the sea and not stopped till his engine flooded. The thought is so ridiculous he’s still chuckling as he strides across the road and opening the door of the command center. 

It’s – somehow – hotter inside than outside. It’s darker and yellower but completely a sauna. Metal fans spin their blades busily and every cop and agent fanned themselves with a stray paper or a carelessly handled file. It’s a flurry of movement with a whole lot of nothing happening. The heat has everyone in Atlanta feeling sluggish and lazy and the task force is no exception. 

The TV above them blared through the muggy air, the local news prattling on to finish the morning broadcast. Bill slips in, greeted by a couple glances and cordial waves from a few on the Atlanta PD but his presence goes mostly unnoticed. He makes his way to the little desk group that he and Holden occupy, the latter nowhere to be seen yet. Bill unpacks his files and settles into his shitty vinyl chair, the aforementioned offensive artifact protesting under his weight. He’s appreciated the facilities as much as he could, with none of the effortless and earnest sincerity that comes so naturally to his partner. Speaking of whom – Bill has finally spotted him.

Shit.

And that’s exactly the problem.

Holden’s already sweaty in the morning heat. He’s mistakenly worn a long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves of which are neatly rolled up above his elbows. He’s got one of his legs propped on his chair, looking up at the TV. Bill watches as a bead of sweat rolls down the cords of Holden’s throat to spread into his collar. That shirt of his clings to his lower back in a misshapen circle of sweat. He shifts back onto both feet, crossing his arms and talking to Barney about something inconsequential, judging by his free and unguarded expression. His ass swells against his pants and Bill is acutely aware of the sweat sliding down his own back. 

Bill already knows he’s well and truly fucked, but he has become pretty adept at ignoring the tingle in his belly when he sees Holden at certain angles. Well, up until recently. Their time on the road together was easy compared to this. There was something about being around violent and prolific killers that drew them closer to each other, both physically and mentally. They had to present a strong front in the face of manipulative evil. Any crack in their partnership could be exploited to turn a promising interview into a mess. Now they could exchange a look across the table in their BSU meetings and convey exactly what they meant. It was… nice. Bill far too often was used to misunderstandings and inefficient communication in his life, mostly and especially with Nancy. Her terse admonishments and huffs of frustrated sighs were distant to him now, hundreds of miles away. They had lost their sting of hurt a while ago. Bill counted himself as numb at this point. 

And it really did eat at him, their growing distance. This was the woman he loved, the one he’d chosen. But slowly the little faithful burning candle within him had been slowly extinguished with every hard glare, every tense silence. 

Where there had been a slow dying of the flame, there had been the roaring of the ocean almost in response. There were waves breaking on the rocks and receding just as surely. There were eddies and swirls in the water, little bits of foam swirling with primal energy – there was Holden.

It was so odd. Bill had never thought of himself as gay or even bisexual. Sure, there had been the odd trysts earlier in his life, but those were in the military - more out of necessity and more often, fear. The fear of dying tomorrow would drive you into the arms of someone, it didn’t really matter who. But this now, is different – not motivated by fear. As he learned more about the energetic young agent and spent more time with him, Bill found himself being more endeared and less annoyed by Holden as the months flew by. 

His passion was contagious, and reignited Bill’s spark. Not that he was losing touch with his career, but something about being beside Holden made him feel better about being in close quarters with untethered killers. He walked willingly into the jaws of killers with both someone to protect and someone to watch his own back. It was a feeling of belonging. It was most decidedly not the feeling of already being half-hard before noon at just the sight of his sweaty partner. Not that at all. 

Bill clenched his jaw and turned away just as a voice caught his attention – a local cop trundling up to him with a file. He gave his best good ol’ boy grin. 

“What can I do for you, Officer?” Perfect. Accommodating. Professional. Definitely not just checking out his partner’s ass and wishing he was neck deep in a pool somewhere. Preferably with a beer and aforementioned partner close by. 

Officer Tate, as his name came to be, found a file of a petty thief but one who had racked up a couple charges for abuse of a minor and thought it to be along the lines of the profile Holden had laid out. Tate left the file on Bill’s desk under the promise he would get it to Holden. That, along with an offering of two mugs of coffee. He had gotten that a lot, some intimidated by Holden’s clean lines and sharp eyes. His tongue, sharper, was hard to control and created a reputation that preceded him. They looked at Bill like the tamer of an exotic cat and interfaced with Holden through the proxy of Bill Tench, the one most adept at emulating their interests, the one who most fit their measure of a government man. 

Cat in question had noticed Bill’s presence and was approaching now, clapping Barney good-naturedly on the arm and wading through the humidity of the room to lean his ass against the side of Bill’s desk. Not quite sitting on it outright but definitely suggesting it. The edge of the desk intruded into the soft swell of Holden’s ass as it had no rights to. Not nearly worthy enough. His prim Mormon door-knocker haircut was arranged perfectly, still stacked neatly despite the heat. All in all, Holden looked like he’d been drip-drying from a morning swim. 

“Agent Tench.” He smirked by way of greeting, picking up the file Officer Tate had left as an offering on Bill’s desk. 

“Agent Ford.” Bill leaned back in his chair, eyebrows briefly rising at the sight of Holden’s topmost button undone. _Must really be sweating it then… _

“What is this?” And Holden promptly answered his own question, rapidly connecting the dots in his head, the charges on the perp’s rap sheet barely breaking the surface of his profile of their Unsub. Deep ocean waters remain unbroken and unfazed by the minds of local police departments. Poor Officer Tate.  
“Huh. Nice try but not quite.” 

The snide, quiet remark was just between them, ever the picture of professionalism to others. Bill snorted. “None of them would survive if you really let loose on them. They’re doing their best. We’re all in this together. Go easy. ” 

He didn’t mean for his voice to dip so low at the end of his statement. _Go easy…_ like he was calming a hitching breath and racing pulse, following the bead of sweat that had caught his eye and holding bucking hips down into a too-stiff hotel mattress, wringing out his partner like he had the taste for it, salt on his mouth and eyes crossing from arousal, so potent like he hadn’t felt in years – lightning down his spine as he… 

Bill hid his flush behind his mug once more, pointedly looking back up at the TV, looking for anything to distract himself from the fantasy building in his head. He could feel heat beading up on his forehead and his stomach tightening. Fuck. He had it bad. Hook, line, and fucking sinker. Luckily Holden seemed oblivious – or pretended not to notice. He was on about something else, Bill launched his thoughts back under the water of his stream of consciousness, twisting to meet the bright ribbon that was Holden. 

“I have an idea, but I’m not sure how far it’ll go. I need to know that you’ll support me on it.” He almost seemed breathless, bright eyes finding Bill’s. And god dammit, there’s a lot that those eyes could convince Bill to do. Here and now, with Holden still leaning on his desk, the proximity between the two of them so intimate and yet so comfortable and easy. 

“Would it even be an option to back out now?” He says with a crooked smirk, tone beleaguered but meaning every word in every interpretation. 

Holden crosses his arms and smiles. Bill almost stands and bites at Holden’s chest, the way his arms flex and lay over his chest making his pecs swell and press against his shirt. Jesus. 

“Not at all,” The confident answer, meaning just as much.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING! 
> 
> fun fact: the working title for this was 'peach' as in peach emoji. for obvious reasons. 
> 
> I'm medusa-muse on tumblr if y'all wanna follow me and get vagueblogged updates about future installments~


End file.
